


Find Me Here

by Expectopatronum28



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Disability, Flashbacks (Claude), Fluff, Linear and Non-Linear Narrative, Love at First Sight, M/M, Paralysis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 07:15:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14765058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Expectopatronum28/pseuds/Expectopatronum28
Summary: That night, Sid dreams – of dark sandy hair, spun like gold; smooth skin – a booming laugh.





	Find Me Here

Sid throws on a pair of old jeans, a clean shirt and his nylon zip up to combat the warm July evening. He blows out a long breath and tugs on his cap, strays of jet black hair sticking out this way and that. He’s due for a trim.

Sid’s meeting the boys at Beerhead tonight; Nate had been texting him all day –  _don’t be a fucking flake_  was the latest. Outings are still a rarity for Sid. When he was a teenager, a gnawing anxiety would seep into his bones when people got too close – too intimate. Sid’s body would become taut; his insides would swell with nervous energy, catapulting into overdrive.

These days, Sid still liked to keep to himself and there was nothing particularly wrong with that, he thought. He was private, he was a little guarded –  _“You’re shutting the world out”_  Jack had objected; the arrant sincerity of it had felt like a kick in the teeth.

Sid grabs the keys to his Range Rover and heads out the front door.

Somehow, it seemed appropriate that it started to rain lightly just then, fine drops hissing into the foliage.

_____

Sid canvasses the dimly lit space, swears he can already hear Nate’s rambunctious howls; he lets the sound lead the way through the humid pub. He spots their table a few feet from the busy bar, where bodies are huddled across the marble island. Pitchers of beer and half-drunken glasses litter every surface.

“Sid!” Jack shouts, waving him over. The man beside him, whom Sid doesn’t recognize, follows Jack’s line of sight; his amber eyes meet Sid’s.

Copper waves stick out in tufts beneath his crisp white cap, flicked backwards. His grey, short-sleeved V neck dips low, accentuating the strut of his collarbone. A thin, silver chain adorns his neck, tucked underneath the grey fabric. His eyes are soft, his skin tan.

He embraces Sid with a thousand watt smile and a set of perfect teeth.

“Claude” he says, boldly, extending his arm over the table.

The movement stresses the hard lines of his bicep, a sliver of his tattoo peaks out beneath his bunched sleeve – his chain gleams under the dull pot light.

Sid swallows, letting a fit of dizziness pass.

He extends his own arm in greeting: “Sid. Nice to meet you.”

Their hands clasp and Sid feels the wet condensation from Claude’s beer bottle across his palm.

“Hey, Jack” Sid manages as he pulls up a chair across from them.

“I was just telling G here that we’re truly in the presence of a miracle” Jack teases, gesturing towards Sid with both hands.

“Shut up” Sid retorts. He tips his hat to the other guys – all buzzed and crimson-faced.

After a beat, he looks back at Claude. His arm is draped across the back of Jack’s chair, his shoulders leaning back, exuding a nonchalance that was all at once mischievous and –  _sexy._  His chest vibrates with laughter at Nate, who’s scrubbing melted cheese off the hem of his shirt.

He turns his attention to Sid, face aglow under the warm light as he leans in, “So, you uh, work with Jack?”

“Nah, our boy’s a plumbing inspector” Jack chimes in, eyes glued to his phone.

“You fancy, huh?” Claude jokes, voice like velvet.

“Definitely not” Sid answers. Claude gives him a smile and Sid loses his train of thought. He takes a gulp of his beer and gracelessly clumps the tumbler onto the table. Claude‘s gaze is still a fixture; Sid fidgets with his worn cap.

“Izzy – my little sister – had her heart set on becoming a plumber when we were growing up” Claude says, eyes crinkling with fondness. “She ended up becoming a vet.”

Sid nods, “That’s awesome. What uh – what about you?”

“Office drone” Claude replies, the bow of his lips curved into a joyless smile.

“Well, you can quit your job” Sid tells him, “and uh – help me decide whether pressure assist toilets are the way to go, or the ever popular, gravity toilets.”

Claude shakes his head, his body bubbling with laughter again. Sid melts.

They continue to chat as Sid watches Claude’s face work with enthusiasm around those dark, shining eyes. Sid learns that he’s French Canadian, that he was born and raised in Ontario, that the nondescript  _G_  stands for Giroux.

“Nah, summer’s the best, man” Claude says. “Goin’ out, lazin’ on the beach, enjoying the heat,” he raises his empty bottle – “Gettin’ crunk.”

“Nope” Sid says resolutely. “Nothing beats the snow.” He’s loved it since he was a kid; it never failed to wipe the slate of Sid’s world clean.

“Well, you hang with me sometime and I’ll change your mind” Claude counters.

“I – ” Sid blushes, looking down at his lap. He doesn’t finish the sentence – his heart’s too busy palpitating. His skin prickles as microscopic beads of sweat bristle to the top of every pore; a rush of adrenaline courses through him like lightning, prompting stupidity – like reaching out to touch Claude’s sun-kissed skin, like tossing his cap off and raking his fingers through those locks.

Sid’s hands curl into fists.  _Christ._

Just then Jack made his way back to their table, which – Sid doesn’t even remember him leaving.

“I should get going” Claude says, “Physio’s early tomorrow.” He bumps fists with Jack and turns to Sid, a shock of auburn hair juts out above his cap‘s Velcro strap, “It was nice meeting you, Sid. I had a great time.”

“Me too” whispers Sid.

Just as a brazen proposal is about to leave Sid’s mouth, Claude‘s palms grip and push the sides of his chair. He rolls back. Sid’s breath catches –  _Claude’s in a wheelchair._

Sid’s immediately on his feet, his kneecaps bang against the base of the rickety table on his way up; it rattles as his eyes meet Claude’s. Claude’s face grows serious, then clam – “Hey” he says softly, and Sid wonders what his face looks like; “It’s okay. I got it, Sid.”

Jack looks over at Claude, then at Sid

Claude gives Jack a parting nod and swiftly maneuvers his way out.

Sid stares helplessly; the noise of the bar suddenly a faint echo.

“I – I didn’t know” Sid says, voice thick with confusion. Blood pools in the veins of his legs, leaving him woozy, off-kilter. He bends his knees, lowering himself back down.

“He – had an accident. Six years ago” Jack says, face sobering.

He turns to Jack, pleading.

“He’s paralyzed.”

Sid’s face hits the palm of his hand, finding that personal space that permits both pressure to the eyeballs and the sealing off of all light –

“ _Fuck.”_

_____

That night, Sid dreams – of dark sandy hair, spun like gold; smooth skin – a booming laugh.

…

Sid dreams of a hospital, the walls magnolia; the double doors lead to a stretch of hallway – it’s sterile and infinite and _tomblike._

…

The images bleed together.

_____

_Claude lost his temper. He made a fist and hit the wall, not hard, just enough to crack the plasterboard and peel a length of skin off his knuckle._

_It would need a bandage._

_His hands were already dirty with blisters from spinning those wheels. It felt like putting on a pair of new boots without socks, like wearing a pair of flip-flops with holes. The rain, the sludge, and whatever rough filth that stuck to the wheels left his hands tender; his palms scabbed as he pushed and pulled dead bones. Broken glass would cut the tires, and all those curbs and crevices and stairs – Claude wanted to slash his wrists._

_It had only been a year._

_______

The sunrise wakes Sid – something he had never experienced. He felt a brilliant glow beneath his eyelids, pulling him from his slumber. He blinks his eyes open under the patch of sunlight streaming through the open blinds.

A sudden wave of nausea hits and Sid bolts upright. He grabs his phone off the nightstand.

_Sid: Hey Jack_

The response is prompt.

_Jack: Hey sid whats up_

Sid chews on his bottom lip, leaving indents of his teeth.

_Sid: Do you have Claude‘s number_

_…_

_Jack: Yeah_

His thumb hovers over the keypad.

_Sid: I just wanted to apologize_

_Jack: Im sure its fine sid, hes wasn’t offended and hes a good guy_

Sid waits.

Jack:  _And you didn’t do anything wrong_

He sighs, smoothing a hand over his sleep-rumpled hair.

_Sid: Please_

_Jack: Hold on a sec_

…

Sid‘s phone chimes.

_Jack: 778-561-3411_

_Sid: Thank you_

_______

Sid strolls around the park, through the forest, and down the pebbled trail to the water’s edge – he breathes in a lungful of ocean air. His head felt lighter, his hair was shorter.  The thick strays cut and swept to the floor had felt akin to a pan being lifted off a burning stove.

Sid looked out over the water. The sun had just emerged from under the cap of cloud, making a vein of molten orange across the horizon. It washed over everything around him, a filtered and vibrant light. It bathed the oak trees, turned the needles and leaves and patches of grass into a spectrum of apple green and incandescent violet.

Sid held his breath at the beauty of it and dug out his phone.

He deletes and re-types the message over four times before he’s satisfied. In the end, it reads –  _Hi Claude, it’s Sid, Jack’s friend from the bar. I just wanted to say again that I had a great time and that if I offended you in any way, I’m truly sorry and it wasn’t my intention._

He quickly hits send and slides his eyes shut; he feels the earthy breeze hit his face.

He’s ready to go home.

A few hours later, his phone vibrates. Sid mutes the television and drops the remote; he carefully reaches for his phone– his heart’s racing, his throat is tight. There are two texts – both from Claude.

_778-561-3411: Hey Sid, its nothing to worry about, you didn’t offend me by any means, I know I didn’t bring it up, it just didn’t feel important. Thank you though_

_778-561-3411: I had a great time with you, Jack give you my number?_

Sid re-reads the first blurb of text on a loop; he can almost hear the soft cadence of Claude’s voice – so open and frank.  He beams at the second text and begins to type.

Sid:  _Thanks Claude, yeah I asked Jack. Hope that’s okay :)_

Sid puts the phone down and unmutes the television; his ears immediately flood with a familiar, irate barking. Hell’s Kitchen is on. His phone buzzes one final time that evening.

778-561-3411:  _More than okay :))_

Sid’s heart skips a beat; he smiles, stupidly. He changes the contact name to  _Claude_ , brushes his teeth and heads to bed.

_____

_He still smoked, once in a while. The packs went stale but he kept them around for these late nights when everything was silent – inside and out._

_The cigarette flared peevishly as he lit it, settling down to a sullen ember. When it was finished, it surrendered with an angry hiss at the bottom of Claude’s bottle – his fifth. His tongue felt fuzzy, his mouth tasted like ash. The tube of his catheter still felt foreign – the bag was probably full of piss by now. It had been 6 hours._

_Fuck it. He orders another drink._

_“Can you, you know – still fuck in that thing?”  he prompted, bluntly, with alcohol-soaked breath and a bemused expression. His hair was short and dark, his nose sharp. He had sunken cheeks – his face a canvas of hard lines._

_His fevered eyes bore into Claude._

_Claude doesn’t want him._

_He wants love – to be taken out of his chair, ravaged and reveled in. To feel a heartbeat in-sync with his own; the ambient thump, thump proof of life – of another’s devotion. Though, he felt a tremendous certainty that his heart would simply stop – his consciousness cut clean as the world continued to swirl and twirl above him. He’d never felt as certain about anything in his entire life as he was about the blackness sweeping underneath his feet, waiting to catch him –_

_The man slithers an arm around the front of Claude’s waist and cups his hand on Claude’s hip. His fingers give a small squeeze._

_Claude’s eyes burn; he drains his drink._

_“Let’s find out.”_

_A lewd grin splits the man’s face._

_____

Claude texts him a week later.

It’s late afternoon as he makes his way home. His 4:00 appointment had taken hours – a new renovation project the City had undertaken in the downtown area. There were still about three inspections to go, scheduled over the next two weeks, and a healthy stack of paperwork.

Though the bustle of the Metropolis faded, the City still breathed underneath the traffic lights, glowing bright beneath a moonlit sky. Sid’s body felt heavy; he grips the steering wheel, letting his head fall forward. His stomach growls and his thoughts drift to his empty fridge. He decides to grab some takeout.

Sid would think about him – at least a couple of times a day. His work kept him busy otherwise.

 _Will I see you at Nate’s barbecue?_ He asked, unabashedly. Sid’s heart fluttered at the words. Claude was simple, so straightforward – and a little brazen.

It was scheduled for next Saturday, at the beach. Sid hadn’t given it much thought, but he wanted to see Claude again, desperately.

 _Yes, will I see you?_  He types back, settling in.

Claude’s reply is instant _: Yes._

Sid’s lips curve into a smile, his body suddenly weightless.

_____

The sun had started to set – Sid was running late.

The beach was still full, albeit not at its usual capacity. The faint, mellow hum of an instrument soothed the stretch of sand and ocean. It was hot. Mid-July. Throngs of bodies, half-clothed, laugh and chat; couples kiss and hold hands, an abandoned beach ball glides across the deep blue waters.

Sid looks around, spots Nate. He’s got a loose fit tank and shorts on. His feet are bare. His face sweaty.

“Sid!” he beams, cupping his neck and dragging him forward.

“Hey, Nate, sorry I’m late” he says, sheepishly, though the words feel muffled against the ball of Nate’s shoulder.

Nate slaps his back; Sid thinks he’s probably buzzed.

He scans the beach, anxious.

“Have you uh – seen Claude?” He hopes it sounds casual enough.

Nate raises his eyebrows but before he can answer, one of the guys behind Nate fists his shirt and yanks him back. He stumbles, off-balance. A raucous fit of laughter breaks out. Sid grumbles.

Jack’s suddenly by his side – “Hey, Sid.” He pokes him in the ribs.

Sid turns to face him. He’s cradling a red plastic cup between his hands, half-empty.

“Is Claude still here?”

Jack raises his eyebrows and Sid heaves a sigh. His cup his halfway into his mouth before he juts his chin forward. Sid turns, his eyes scour the space and –  _there he is._

He’s sitting, legs splayed forward, looking out over the water. His wheelchair vacant by his side.

Sid’s feet move of their own accord.  

Sid reaches him and tentatively steps in his line of sight. “Hi” he says, gently.

Claude looks up at him. His curls are parted and gelled to the side; he’s wearing cargo shorts, a threadbare shirt and boat shoes. The same silver chain graces his neck. He’s beautiful, Sid thinks.

Claude smiles – “Hey, Sid.”

Sid sits down beside him, careful to leave some space between their bodies. His eyes fall to Claude’s legs – they’re skinny, a little sunken, the muscles weak; small patches of hair cover his shins. Sid looks up.

He settles on his eyes. Brown. At once open, accessible and yet bottomlessly resolved. Claude turns his head, facing Sid.

“I can see your eyes” he says, still smiling.

“Huh?”

“When we met – you uh, had your hat tugged down so low, I could barely see you” Claude explains.

“Oh” Sid says, he could feel his face heating up.

“They’re real beautiful, Sid.”

 _God_.

Sid lets out a shaky exhale; he brings his knees to his chest, lacing his arms around them – “Thank you.”

Claude eyes linger on the movement. “You’re real shy, aren’t you?”

“I had problems – with anxiety and well, people.” Sid admits. “It’s better now.”

“That’s good” Claude tells him, “I’m glad.”

It was starting to get quieter, darker.

Sid shifted his weight; he peered over at Claude again and – they were staring at one another. Their expressions grew serious and there it was, a hovering instant of possibility. Both of them floating in it.

Sid takes a steadying breath – “How did it happen?”

”Jack didn’t tell you?”

“I wanted to ask you.”

Claude’s eyes leave Sid; he stares straight ahead; the waves splash against the jagged rocks. “I was on my skateboard, riding around on that thing like a fuckin’ idiot. It happened in a split second. The truck rammed right into me. I went flying.”

“Was it – ”

“It was my fault” Claude finishes. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“I – I remember lying in a pool of my own blood. My legs were twisted.” Claude squeezes his eyes shut. “There was this woman, she kept screaming. They were these blood curdling screams, you know? And all I wanted – all I wanted in that moment was for her to stop.”

Sid feels his eyes dampen.

“I don’t remember much after that. The doctors told me I had fractured my spine in two places – that my spinal cord was damaged. I went into surgery right away – It was all a white blur.”

Stark images of that hospital hallway from Sid’s dream reappear, frying his brain.

“After that, they told me I’d never walk again.” Claude shakes his head, “That I would be confined to a wheelchair.”

He turns to Sid and says, with an official sounding voice, “Sorry, sir, but your diagnosis is confined to a wheelchair.” He chuckles, “What is that supposed to mean? Is it like house arrest, where you can’t get out of the wheelchair?”

Sid lets out a wet laugh, wiping his eyes.

The light had fallen so low that a uniform blue descended upon the sky. The light grew particulate, grainy. Sid could see it move across Claude’s freckled skin.

“I’d like to think I’m okay – now” he says somberly.                         

“You are” Sid tells him.

Sid’s eyes drift to the space between them. He places the back of his hand against the cool sand, his palm open, inviting.

Claude plants his hand on top; his fingers dig into the soil between Sid’s spread digits. Claude curls his fingers and finally clutches Sid’s hand, tight.

Sid squeezes back, overwhelmed.

_____

 

 

 

 

…

 

 

Sid falls, hard and hopelessly. Falls for days, weeks, months – until he forgets that he’s falling.

 

 

…

 

 

_____

 

 

 

…

 

 

A delivery man rings his doorbell on the morning of August 7, handing him a tied bouquet of assorted sunflowers; they’re stunning; the thick, oval petals mauve and golden.  The card reads  _Happy Birthday, beautiful._

Sid’s heart clenches.

_____

 

 

 

…

 

 

Sid watches him in wonder.

There’s 7 seconds to play and the score is tied. Number 55 catches the inbound pass as Claude pushes his way to the top of the key – 15 feet from the hoop. He’s guarded by two opposing players, but receives the pass beautifully. He swiftly tosses up a shot. The clock winds down as the ball soars through the air, banks off the glass, and swishes through the net’s lattice.

Claude lets out a roar, tipping his head back as he’s mugged by his teammates. The two sides slap high-fives as they separate.

Claude rolls his way to the bleachers as Sid descends. His face is flushed red, his hair wild – his brown eyes crinkle, huge and happy.

Sid crouches down in front of him, leans forward to cups both hands around Claude’s neck; “You’re incredible.”

Claude slides his gloved hands up Sid’s arms. He lifts one of Sid’s hands, turns it over and presses his lips to the center – “Thank you.”

_____

 

 

                                                            

…

 

 

Claude lurks at the pool’s edge, in the womblike warmth of the water.  His arm extended as his trembling hand grips the sturdy rim – but he’s out of his depth. His knuckles whiten at the exertion; his body struggles to stay upright.

Sid slowly makes his way over, eyes hooded as they lock with Claude’s.

The moon above them is a waning crescent. In the black night sky, the stars blinked, a little sluggish in the heat.

Sid crowds him against the sill. Claude’s hair is slicked back from the water, dripping at the seams; his clumped lashes shed thick droplets as he blinks – his eyes, like saucers, nervously dart from Sid’s pink mouth to his blown pupils.

Sid’s body plunges beneath the water’s still surface; it ripples in his wake. He curves his hands and grips the underside of Claude’s thighs, just above the backs of his knees, as he  _hoists_ him up. Sid inhales sharply as he resurfaces, disrupting the calm. Claude scrambles above him, frantically anchoring himself to Sid’s soaked bulk; he tightens his arms around the circle of Sid’s neck, presses his slack mouth against the side Sid’s head – the thick hair drenched to the tips.

Sid tucks his face into Claude’s neck, mouthing the chain that rests above the damp skin, tasting faintly of chlorine – “I want you so bad.”

Claude nudges Sid’s face up with his chin; he delicately cradles Sid’s head between his wet palms. “Prend moi” he breathes, latching his lips to Sid’s.

Sid sinks their twined bodies below as they kiss, holding Claude tight.

_____

 

 

 

…

 

 

“Ever since I met you, I – ”

 

Claude waits, patient.

 

“You make me feel like I’m alive.”

Claude quietly sets his guitar aside, his rough hands frame Sid’s face; Sid leans into the touch.

The red in his eyes dimmed to tiny pinpricks, and his voice dropped to a fierce whisper, “You  _are_  alive, Sid.”

His eyes fill at Claude’s promise.

_____

 

 

 

…

 

Sid pushes in, it’s cold. Claude grips his forearms. Sid knows he can’t feel him; he doesn’t want to use him like this, for his own pleasure –  _not ever._

He hangs his head, his body stills, suspended above him. Claude reaches up to grip the back of his bare shoulders, pushing down until Sid slumps and curves into the warmth of Claude’s body.

“Sid” he says, pressing a kiss to his hair.

“I can’t.”

Claude cups his face and brings their lips together. Their noses bump as Claude angles his mouth and kisses him – full and hard, his stubble adding just enough roughness to arouse. Sid parts his lips as Claude slides his tongue in – stroking, playing, teasing. Sid’s tongue rises to meet Claude’s, caressing him in turn. They kiss and kiss and kiss – the heat of Claude’s mouth the focal point of Sid’s whole world.

He can barely breathe.                                                                           

Sid withdraws, panting; he trails wet kisses across Claude’s jawline, down the expanse of his neck, over his heart; Claude’s skin tastes like cinnamon. Sid shifts further down and peppers kisses from the valley of Claude’s muscled chest to his navel – licking and sucking the soft skin, his breath hot and heavy.

Sid’s hands mold to his waist as he mouths the base of Claude’s groin; he nuzzles his balls, the skin loose and pebbled. He noses his way up Claude’s length and presses a kiss to the tip.

Claude’s fingers tunnel through his dark hair.

“Sid, please. Come back up.”

He presses a kiss to his thigh before surging back up to capture Claude’s chapped lips. Claude cups the back of his head – “Slow down.”

Sid breaks their kiss and buries his face into the fluffed pillow, breathing hard.

“Sid. Please.”

Sid lifts his head; his eyes watery and red.

He meets Claude’s gaze, his eyes the size of teacups. “It’s okay” Claude tells him.

“No.”

Claude pushes his palms against the soft rug as he sits upright. Sid untangles himself from the mound of sheets and straddles his thighs. Claude rests his temple against Sid’s chin.

The heavy rain patters against Sid’s roof.

“Before – ” Claude starts, “When things were bad, when – “ Claude’s eyes sink shut.

Sid winds his arms around Claude’s lower back, his hold sure and solid – “Yes.”

“There was this guy I met, he just – he shoved me, face-first, onto the bed.”

Sid lets out a quivering breath; he hugs Claude, impossibly tighter, burrowing him in his chest.

“I let him, Sid – I just felt so fucking dead inside. I – I wanted to feel  _something_.”

Sid loosens his hold from Claude’s back; he lifts his hands and nestles the back of Claude’s head, placing a hard kiss atop his coppery curls.

“I feel it all” he whispers after a beat, reaching for Sid’s hand and placing it firmly over his heaving chest – “With you.”

Sid makes a rough, hurt noise; his heart feels lodged in his throat – and Claude doesn’t stop. “And I know – ” he says determinedly,  gripping Sid’s chin and tilting his face down, “ _I know how much you love me.”_

Sid lets his forehead fall against Claude’s. Blood pumps through his veins, furious and loud, filling his heart to the brim. He opens his mouth to say something, to ask how he knows – but –  _Claude’s crying._ His tears as silver as the moonlight around them; so full, so thick with sudden knowing that they fill Sid’s own eyes, too. They pour from Claude and into him; they cover him. Sid gasps.

“Fuck. Enough” Claude says, laughing wetly. He places a kiss against the hollow of Sid’s throat.

Claude lies back down, dragging Sid with him. “Warm me up,” he orders.

Sid laughs as Claude frames his face; his thumbs smooth the translucent skin beneath his eyes, wiping away the tear tracks.

Sid worries his bottom lip between sharp teeth; he’s still nervous.

“Hey” Claude says. “I want you –  _inside me_." He leans up and presses a kiss underneath his jaw. "I wanna watch you lose it, baby." A kiss to his chin. "I wanna hear you cry out.  _I’m gonna hold you so tight when you come.”_

Sid’s whole body grows flaming hot.

_God._

_______

He slides in again, slow and careful.

When Sid reaches his peak, it’s with fast, deep thrusts, sweat clinging to every inch of his wrought body, and a litany of  _I love you, I love you, I love you_  pouring from Claude’s mouth and into his ear, sweet and heavy as honey.

_____

 

 

…

 

 

“You got it?” Izzy asks, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Sid reaches into the pocket of his dress pants. Fuck, they were tight. He pulls out the tiny rustic box and opens it to find the ring safe inside, gleaming as the light hit it. He snaps it shut and drops it into his coat pocket.

“You ready?” she asks, smiling.

“Yeah” Sid answers.

He was ready and happy and  _so in love._

_______

**Author's Note:**

> Your comments and feedback mean the world!


End file.
